Bubble Gum Wrappers
by BecauseHeroesNeverDie
Summary: Every time he visited, she would press a bubblegum wrapper in his palm and close his fingers around it. The healers had told him that she'd never given the wrappers to anyone else. She stowed them in her pillowcase and would not allow a single soul to disturb them. It was the only way she could say "I love you." -Neville centric-


It was late and Neville couldn't sleep. He'd managed to snatch a few moments of quiet, peaceful darkness before the monsters that lived behind his eyelids had twisted that dark into nightmares.

The usual one, the one where Professor Dumbledore stared straight at him down his long, crooked nose. He would speak next, words spoken so simply, as if they were the most certain thing in the world, "Now, Neville, you know you don't belong here. We think it would be best if you just leave." McGonagall nodded, adding "Certainly not Gryffindor material." The sorting hat cackled softly somewhere far away, singing all of the songs he'd heard in years of sorting ceremonies, all mixed together and sounding suddenly unfamiliar. They pushed him out the door, where it was cold. Where a crazed woman stood, laughing as she tipped her wand and paused a moment. A malicious smile was spreading across her face.

"_Crucio._"

And his eyes snapped open.

He didn't speak or sit up, just stared up at the curtains that hung from his four poster bed. He followed the folds in the cloth, until he was looking through a large gap between the curtains. Outlined against the moonlight that poured from the high dormitory window was a figure. The figure was curled up on the window seat, leaning against the glass. He was hunched over a book; his fingers were running over the pages, tracing out something Neville couldn't see.

_Harry_, Neville thought, _Harry Potter_. He wondered what Harry could possibly be doing up so late, but then he remembered that he himself was quite awake. Neville turned over in his bed to give Harry some privacy.

"You awake, Neville?" Harry's voice floated from the window.

"Nightmare."

"Me too."

Neville wondered if it was wrong to feel glad that he wasn't alone. "What's that book you've got there?"

"A photo album. It's got pictures of my parents in it."

Neville felt even worse. He turned over in his bed and pretended to sleep. This time, Harry let him.

0o0o0o0o0o

Neville had always known that he was a complete and utter loser. His grandmother knew too. And she said so. She had never used those exact words but he could hear it in the disappointed way she tut-tutted when she saw his less-than-perfect scores. The way she shook her head, wiped her hand across her brow and asked, rather too forcefully, "just haven't inherited your parents' talent, have you?"

Neville was sure that not only were his skills no match for his parents, but also vastly below average.

He wondered if his mother would think so too, if she could think and speak like everyone else could.

Neville's mother could not speak anymore. Some of the healers at Saint Mungo's insisted that she could barely think beyond making herself breathe in and out. Neville, however, knew that these people were entirely wrong. If you sat very silently and listened very carefully, like Neville did, you would be able to hear the tiny whistling sound that she made whenever her lips came together in a rough smile or the slight wheeze that snuck up from her throat when her eyes grew wet. There was a person in there, a person who was brave beyond words. A person who was the only mother Neville had.

She knew this. That was why, every time he visited, she would press a bubblegum wrapper in his palm and close his fingers around it. The healers had told him that she'd never given the wrappers to anyone else. She stowed them in her pillowcase and would not allow a single soul to disturb them.

It was the only way she could say "I love you."

That was something Neville had figured out very early on. So the wrappers became as important to him as they were to his mother. He would stash them in trouser pockets and pillowcases, always making sure they were safe from his grandmother. She only wanted to get rid of all that "useless rubbish" and Neville had never blamed her for it. There are some things that words cannot explain. If he tried to make her understand, she would only scoff and tell him to get the dustbin and please, please, please get rid of all that rubbish he carried around.

That was why he never bothered Harry while he was looking at his photo album. Because he knew that all the time he spent staring into that book, he was straining his ears, listening for the quiet whispers of words no one had ever told him in a voice he could barely remember.

"I love you," the pictures whispered.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Why don't you take the time to grow something on your own? Something safe, of course. Never take risks, not even with your talent." She offered him a nice clay pot covered in a thick layer of dust with a chip in the lip.

_Your talent. _Professor Sprout made Neville feel like he wasn't the most useless person in the world. He was always happy to see her delighted smile whenever he answered a question and he was always surprised by her quick praise. It made him work harder in Herbology than in any other subject. Whenever his hands wrapped around his trowel, his chest puffed out, almost imperceptibly, with a pride that he could find in nothing else.

He'd spent the rest of that day agonizing over what he should grow in it. He sat through each class, eyes fixed on a window, a bust of a long-forgotten philosopher, a quill twitching in Hermione's hand in front of him. He saw without seeing, focused only on the list running through his head. One idea after another, tumbling toward him, being considered then rejected and tumbling away again.

He sat in the common room, staring into the fire. It was growing late and, still, he wasn't sure what he could possibly plant on his own. He pushed the pot around in his hands, dusting it off with a corner of his robe.

Neville wondered if flowers could speak bubble gum wrapper.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

_**Writer's woes: So this will probably be a two-shot. I wanted it to be a oneshot but it's been taking me forever to get to writing this piece, so I want to put out what I have now and then finish it up later. **_

_**I've always wanted to write something for Harry Potter; it's what inspired me to write (and write children's books at that!). I have thought about writing this for ages, but I just hadn't got to it. I love Neville and I will do my best to portray him as I see him. :D **_


End file.
